Something Wicked
by GGJ5
Summary: WickedHP crossover. Fleeing from Oz, Elphaba Thropp seeks refuge as the new DADA teacher at Hogwarts. How does she get there? How will this turn out?
1. Chapter 1

"_Did you hear?"_

"_She's not gone, is she?"_

"_The door's locked…"_

"_Did you hear?"_

Came the whispers from every corner, every hallway.

No amount of searching could locate her. The sight of the putrid pink bow bobbing atop the frilly, overdone curls met no pupil's eyes. For the first time that year, everyone felt a bit lighter. Dolores Umbridge was no where to be found on the Hogwarts grounds.

"She's never left before, has she?" questioned a bewildered Hermione Granger as the trio weaved their way among the mass of students to hover at the edge of the classroom. She wriggled the door knob and shrugged. "It's locked."

"Oh, come on Hermione," Ron Weasley said wearily. "Don't pretend you can't change that."

"Well, I don't know why I should; it's not my room…" But as she said it, Hermione pointed her wand at the door's handle. "_Alohamora_."

Ron pushed open the door and craned his neck to peer inside, hoping to glimpse their temporary (and dreading to see the temporary who was there last time their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher decided to take flight). Seeing nothing but an empty room, he sighed with relief and reported his findings to his friends. He gave a knowing look to his best mate Harry Potter and started, "Maybe class'll be cancelled, and we can practice—"

"You mean," interrupted Hermione pointedly. "You can finish that essay on healing potions for Professor Snape."

Ron and Harry in unison screwed up their faces at the thought. Writing endlessly on the properties of unicorn horn when combined with the extract of infantile devil's snare was hardly appealing when the grounds of Hogwarts were now Umbridge free.

Other students filtered into the empty class habitually; some shrugged contentedly to peers, other looked tentatively for a hidden pink bow, but all were grinning. Hermione, weary of this attitude from her friends, sighed heavily and prompted, "Come on," pushing the two gently into their room. "If class was cancelled, then Professor Umbridge would have left a note, or Professor McGonagall—"

And as fate would have it, Professor McGonagall's voice was heard in the hall before the doorway, rallying remnant students into the room. Her presence called for the attention of the flustered pupils before her, and when all eyes met hers, she began solemnly: "It appears that our dear Professor Umbridge has decided to take an early Christmas holiday." McGonagall exhaled a slow and quiet breath that no one could perceive, and started again. "The headmaster happens to be in a meeting with a possible temporary instructor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, until our Ministry-appointed one decides to grace us again with per presence. However," –here Harry was certain he caught a slight smile cross his Head of House's face— "for today, you will have a free period."

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Professor, in the past if a teacher was unable to meet his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Snape would—_ow_!" Hermione glared at Ron, who only shrugged and moved his foot back over.

McGonagall seemed to have been expecting this, as she responded promptly as if it was rehearsed. "Professor Snape has his own lessons to administer, Miss Granger. You are recalling times when no alternative was found so that each teacher may focus on his course respectively. This possible temporary will make it easier for everyone; as you will remember, the method worked quite well for your Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a time. Any further questions before class is dismissed?"

Everyone began to pull their books into their arms until again, a hand rose to the air—this time, though, not sharp and high like Hermione's. The sight of it produced a unanimous groan throughout the room, though it was quickly silenced by a sharp look from the deputy headmistress. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Who's Professor Dumbledore got in mind?"

"I don't know, Longbottom." She gestured to the exit. "Class dismissed."

As the weather was as rarely fair as time was free, Harry, Ron, and Hermione (among several others) took advantage of their emptied schedule to spend time out of doors until dinner. Making herself home under the tree nearing the lake, Hermione immediately began again work on her Potions essay.

Ron eyed her and could not suppress a grin. "Didn't you already finish that once already?"

"Yes," she responded briskly, thumbing through an old library book she'd procured precisely for the assignment. "But I forgot to include the side effects of improper use of expired aconite…"

Ron rolled his eyes and, meaning for only Harry to hear, muttered, "As opposed to _proper_ use of expired… acetone?"

"_Aconite_!" snapped Hermione, and she huddled closer to her parchment. "Now, shh! You should get busy, too…"

The thought of another essay for Snape caused a quick knot to grow in Harry's stomach, especially as Hermione was right—neither he nor Ron had begun work on it, though it was assigned the previous Thursday. And this knot was worse than the past ones, with the new emphasis his teachers decided to put on oral presentation this year. Harry had already had to demonstrate in front of his Herbology class how to properly seed a Fanged Geranium (and, accidently, how to mend a wound caused by said Fanged Geranium), in his Transfiguration class how to change a button into a ladybug (or, rather, how to make a button grow wings), and in his Astronomy class why different stars were varying colors (the blue ones are the coldest, right?). This latest Potions essay was to be read aloud before the class next meeting, whilst demonstrating an accurate concoction of the assigned potion. The idea of standing before the class (and Snape) alone and being called to speak, to make an accurate potion, and to write the essay for it all, was bordering on terrifying. And one look toward Ron, Harry could tell shared the same thoughts. The two sank to the ground opposite Hermione and began, with loathing, to invent something to write.

"Now, what was it about nettles?" muttered Ron.

"I dunno… Sounds like something out of _The Quibbler_, though, huh?" laughed Harry, as the two continued their journey into the realm of Painful Potion Essays.

At dinner that evening, the Great Hall buzzed more than usual (something the trio, as they approached the Gryffindor table, attributed to the joyous lack of Umbridge). However, as Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in the large gap between Neville Longbottom and Nearly Headless Nick, Neville leaned into them and started, "Did you see? Professor Dumbledore's already found someone; she's sitting with the other teachers already."

"Really, who is she?" Hermione wondered aloud as her gaze drifted toward the head table. And when her already large brown eyes noticed the new addition, they grew quite to rival the plate set before her. "Oh," emitted softly.

"What?" echoed Ron to her side and as he and Harry looked in her direction, they saw as she did, and Ron sounded like he was choking on something, though he hadn't begun to eat. Harry blinked, thinking something was wrong with his sight, or with the light. But he resigned himself after several moments to accepting that he saw the truth: the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was indeed… _green_.


	2. Chapter 2

After a time, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and thus secured the Hall's attention. When a gratifying amount of silence fell, he began pleasantly, "Good evening to you all. As I am sure you well know, our school is experiencing the unfortunate results of the whims of our dear Ministry-approved educator. And not wishing the deprivation of education on any of you," –he spread his hands inclusively—"Fate has managed to hand to us a very capable temporary instructor who shall serve the school to the best of her ability." Dumbledore gestured to the unusually emerald and angular figure of the somber witch. "Professor Thropp will be teaching combined lessons (in effort to avoid scheduling conflicts) as expected, with Gryffindor and Slytherin; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Yes, this means a change in schedules for both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but with hope it shall last only as long as Professor Thropp is with us. She has also been generous enough to offer fifth-year and seventh-year students additional lessons for preparation of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. And," –his hands met before him so that his fingers created a peak—"As soon as our very busy Ministry-approved Professor Umbridge sends word, you will be notified, of course. I do hope that eases any concerns among you." With nothing more, he proceeded out of the Hall, his purple cloak disappearing between the large oak doors.

"Well," came the voice of a very sarcastic Ron. "That's just great."

"What?" quickly responded Hermione. The look on her face was frighteningly similar to the one she wore upon hearing that house-elves made her dinner.

"I was just thinking," answered Ron, leaning forward to see Hermione around Harry. "that that's just what we need here—another stereotypical witch." He nodded in the direction of the Slytherin table, where at the far end alone sat Zenith Chambers, hunched absorbedly over a piece of parchment, quill flying across it. Her flat raven hair fell from its pin behind her ear to in front of her face and Ron snickered, "She has the magical power to see through thick chunks of hair."

"Ron!" chastised Hermione, also leaning forward, and across Harry to get as close to the lanky redhead as physically possible. "Who are you to take the mickey out of her? All I've ever seen her doing is scribbling over parchment all the time."

Ron immediately turned to Hermione and started, "When you're reading, Hermione, do you see nothing that goes on in the real world?" And noticing the confused look she gave him, he explained. "Let's not think of the fact that whenever we're in the library at the same time she's almost always floating in the Restricted Section—"

"And I'll give you one guess as to who signs all her notes for 'em," interrupted Harry. 

"And let's not think," continued Ron, as if Harry hadn't said a word. "of how the only time you hear her voice is when she's hexing someone. And—"

"So that gives you a right to snicker behind her back?" Hermione broke in, clearly perturbed now. "Because she frightens you with peculiarities?" 

And while Harry started to say, "No, it's that—", Ron began with, "Yes, because—". Abruptly the two paused, and giving up their defense (or lack thereof) Ron decided to pursue a new course. "Listen, Hermione. You've been raised with Muggles; you know how clueless they are about magic." He broke to invest in some of the roast beef before him, then continued, "So, you've seen what most of us have only heard, you know, how the Muggles let their children dress as ugly hags and pretend to be magical…" He faked a shudder.

Hermione stared at him blankly. "And what about it? It's just what they learn from storybooks."

"Well," explained Ron, as if it was painfully obvious. "I don't know about other people, but everyone in my family's tired of those 'storybook witches', and people like Chambers and Thropp over there don't exactly help… It's just a bother, really. She's even gone so far as to get an all-black cat, name it Salem, she's got those long creepy nails, and I'm positive that that hat is glued to her head."

The thought of how wizards responded to the Muggle idea of magic had never occurred to Harry, and he was surprised to find that Ron had such an avid opinion on it. Not wanting to be caught in the middle (though he already was), he muttered "Right, then…" and absorbed himself in some custard tart, hoping the conversation had ended.

It hadn't.

"Ron, I can't believe you'd be so judgmental." Hermione seemed genuinely appalled. "Just because she doesn't operate by your means does not give you the right to insult her behind her—"

"I was just joshing, Hermione, calm down!"

"You shouldn't play around like that; why can't you understand?"

And on they bantered, though Harry informed them in the midst of their bickering that he really needed to make some progress on that essay…

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The week continued on with the same light contentment that the absence of the "Magic Nazi" Umbridge and to Harry's great relief Ron and Hermione managed to seemingly resolve their tiff quickly. Unfortunately, this also meant that Thursday approached more rapidly than Harry would have liked. And though Hermione seemed confidant enough, Ron reported feeling like a blundering fool with the inability to accurately demonstrate a concoction of Scintillation Solution (though he was progressing well to Harry's eye), and Harry, having a go at a memory potion, barely scraped through by the edge of his teeth.

Monday arrived, which meant so did the Gryffindors' first meeting with Professor Thropp. They'd heard a few things from the Hufflepuffs about her while in Herbology: "She's gonna start with ranting about her color first, then she'll go on to correct everything we've been taught. Her accent's hard sometimes, and she won't tell us where she's from. She bewitched her own broomstick (it's really old, too), and she won't let the thing out of her sight…."

Entering the room, Harry immediately noticed that their temporary had covered the walls and windows with thick hangings of black. This did nothing to help the already-dead and grey appearance of the room, though the sun tried hard to make it through the curtained windows. Indeed, Harry saw the old broom that had been mentioned to him leaning next to the instructor's desk. On top of the large oak desk sat the ebony-clad Thropp, her green hands entwined at rest under her pointed chin. Her brown eyes were nearly hidden beneath the shadow of her large, wide-brimmed peaked hat (under which hid her jet black hair) and she crossed her soft-soled boots at the ankles before her. As she observed the strangely silent filling of seats, her eyes would momentarily fall for a prolonged time on one student, then the next. Soon the students together returned their instructor's unbreaking gaze, and for a moment she allowed it to continue. Then without warning, she jumped from the desktop to the floor, and it was the first time any of them had seen just how very tall and gaunt and startlingly emerald she was. She tilted her head slightly, not breaking eye contact, as if she were investigating each and every being in the room, and then suddenly thrust her stare to the back wall. "Any questions?"

Immediately a hand flew into the air; shockingly it was not Hermione's, but the hand of Draco Malfoy, typical smirk and all ("Record that, mate; you'll never see it again," Ron muttered). "All right," she answered him, as if reciting a prepared speech. "Let's review the basics. No, I'm not seasick. Yes, I've always been this green. No, I did not eat grass as a child."

Not dissuaded from his course, the grinning Malfoy shot his so-thought surefire double question. "I was only going to ask how you were feeling, because you look a little green around the gills."

And to several people's surprise, the very emerald lips parted into a smile. "Oooh," she breathed, moving toward the back of the room, toward the problem maker. "How extraordinarily creative. I haven't heard _that_ one before." She drummed the tips of bright green fingers on his desk. "Do tell me, did you make that up yourself or did you need…" (She glanced at Crabbe and Goyle ever flanking him) "…assistance? …Don't answer that; save yourself the embarrassment."

The green lady returned to her stance between her students and the enormous desk behind her. She leaned her right hand on the desk to her back and, from that tilted stance, addressed the group again. "My name, however debatable, is Elphaba Thropp. I don't care if you call me Thropp, Ms. Thropp, Professor Thropp, Elphaba, or whichever… just be smart about it.

"Now." Again she sat on top of the desk, her feet dangling in front of her. "I've read through some of your text… and frankly, it's terrible. No need for a counter-jinx? What an idiot… So you won't need your textbooks as long as I'm here."

Grins were exchanged, and people started to stuff their copies of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard into their bags. Elphaba Thropp's gaze once again drifted to the far back corner where sat Malfoy and company. For some reason, as much as he tried, it seemed that Draco Malfoy could not remove his text (or anything else, for that matter) from the desk.

"So," declared the green witch, "I'm just going to jump into some things I think, from observation of course, that this particular class will benefit from. And with that…" Here the long and boney fingers stretched out to the back of the room and she opened her mouth to say something, then apparently decided against it. Instead, her hand fell and she again looked at the class from a very odd angle. "In general, if a person is the object of a curse, jinx, and so forth, then the inflictor must be in his presence. But there are some hexes that, though more complicated, can be inflicted on someone on the opposite side of the world. And though that's slightly unnerving, there are equally complicated ways of blocking those spells. And from what I can gather from the lot of you in here, I think we'll start with _Ambitus Ambire._ Have any of you ever heard—? Miss—"

"I'm Hermione Granger, Professor, and—"

"I know." The comment was punctuated with a smile.

Hermione returned the gesture and continued, "_Ambitus Ambire_ is one of the few bridging spells, and it deludes its target into believing they have achieved their secret ambition, and because it both deceives the target and bears his secret accomplishment, it leads rapidly to—well, to madness."

"A quick summary, but sounds good to me. I won't tell you how it's done, obviously, but that it's much longer than two words, and takes a ridiculous amount of concentration and perseverance to make it work effectively. And it's a lot more trouble than it sounds, too. For example," Elphaba Thropp once again scanned the room, and her eyes stopped on one in the farthest corner whose face hid under her equally wide peaked hat as she crouched over her parchment, scribbling, black limp strands escaping her hat and falling into her visage. "Zenith Chambers."

No response.

"_Zenith Chambers_."

Up snapped the alabaster face of Zenith Chambers, long Celtic crosses dangling from her ears, and her eyes met Thropp's as if seeing her for the first time (which was probable).

"Zenith," began Thropp, now not even blinking. "What is one of your most precious dreams? I mean desires, dear."

And also not breaking the stare between them, though looking as though she terribly wanted to, Zenith responded promptly (and very rushed) to the question. "Tobeananimagus."

Although several snickers and chortles were heard after the rapid manner in which she delivered her statement, Elphaba Thropp didn't seem to notice them and continued to the class, "All right, you keep that in mind…" Here she turned to face the class as a whole and at that moment it seemed Zenith Chambers had just awoken from a beastly dream. She wrenched herself free of her desk and haphazardly slung her pin-ridden book bag into the crook of her arm. A glance at her face told any observer that Zenith was both enraged and humiliated, with brow furrowed, eyes shining white, and a deep-set glower etched onto her face. In seconds she stormed across the room and, upon crossing the threshold, made sure to slam the door with the best of her efforts.

**::Author's Note:: Everyone, please give a huge metaphorical hand for my wonderful beta, ****MaskedNicci****! I just love the mess out of her. :) **


End file.
